


The People You Meet In Bars

by greenscribbles



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenscribbles/pseuds/greenscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a round of after-work drinks, Elliot asks a question to which Olivia does not know the answer. So she sets off to find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The People You Meet In Bars

Title: The People You Meet in Bars  
Pairing: Alex/Olivia  
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I simply put them in situations that make me smile. 

 

“How ‘bout her?” 

“Nope,”

“How can you be so sure?”

“How can you not? Look at her: the way she sits, the way her hands move, the way she wears her clothes, and of course, the way she’s talking to that man. You can just tell.”

“Hm…well, maybe. But what about her right there? She’s got to be a lesbian; she’s wearing boots in September.”

Detective Olivia Benson groaned inwardly and took another drink of her beer. On the bar stool beside her, Detective Elliot Stabler ate another fistful of peanuts as he waited for Olivia’s response. A proud and expectant look decorated his usually stern face, as if content with himself for having used his hard-earned detective skills on something as relatively trivial as guessing a bar patron’s sexuality. And though Olivia enjoyed this game about as much as she guessed she'd enjoy having her eyelashes ripped out one a time, she was actually thankful that this was happening.

In the two weeks since she had come out to her partner (albeit, accidentally), Olivia had observed a reserved air in Elliot when it came to talking about women or relationships, which Olivia realized came up _a lot_ in their line of work. While all other aspects of their work relationship went relatively unaffected, it was painfully obvious that the proverbial elephant was in the room whenever any conversation between them or the squad called for vocalizing personal opinions about physical attractions, good looks, and past relationships. After spending a two weeks in a draining, overly politically-correct business attitude, Olivia had invited Elliot for drinks after their relatively early day, and the two had sat down and talked. 

Forty-five minutes later (the first ten of which had been unforgettably awkward), the air had cleared amazingly, and the casual, brotherly air that had escaped Elliot during the course of the past two weeks seeped indiscriminately back into him. With the comfort between them renewed, Elliot had started asking questions. Questions which had inevitably led to their current game. But as she turned to eye the woman Elliot had pointed out, Olivia decided that she would much rather sit in a bar entertaining his partner’s juvenile whims than sit in the squad car on the way to a scene with nothing between them but awkward, angry silence.

“Yeah, she’s gay,” Olivia answered. “Though it has nothing to do with her boots. And this is the last one I’m calling.”

Elliot let his eyes linger on the woman’s boots for a minute longer, wondering if Olivia’s statement could have been some kind of private joke, and turned contentedly to his beer and peanuts. He took a sip of the one beer he was allowing himself, and sighed, “Olivia, I can't tell you how sorry I am for the way I acted.”

“Yeah, you were pretty terrible, Elliot. But I suppose it's understandable, to a certain degree,” Olivia replied. “Men tend to be really weird about gay women. And with you being Catholic and all, well, it’s not surprising that you took it as…less than well as you did.”

“I wasn’t being terrible -,”

Olivia shot him a glance. He stopped talking, but that did not spare him the burn from Olivia's eyes as the truth of the past fortnight's interactions boiled to the surface. “Really? Then let’s backtrack, yeah? Because if I remember correctly, not only have you strained to say more than three words to me all week, but I can't say anything about any woman anywhere without you taking my motives into question, or analyzing my point of view, or wondering if I have some deep-seated lust for every woman on the streets of New York, whether she be real or imaginary or plastered on a billboard advertising shampoo." Elliot cringed at the recollection of just how terribly that particular conversation, stemmed from an off-handed comment about the way the woman in the advertisement was holding the shampoo bottle, had ended. "And all I wanted from you, my partner and friend, was a little support and understanding. I could have done without that judgmental, holier-than-thou look you've had on your mug since the second this accidentally slipped out."

"Olivia, I -"

"For God's sake, Elliot, you couldn't refer to me as your partner last week because you thought it was awkward wording!"

Elliot lowered his head in shame, and slowly, apologetically, raised his eyes to his partner. "I being was stupid and immature and treated you like – like you were weird for being the way you are, for being gay. I realize that, and I apologize, again, because I was such a dick to my best friend when all you wanted was support. I'm sorry, Olivia. It just took a while to sink in that you weren’t a different person. And I swear this wasn't a religion thing. I just needed some time to get over myself, I guess. I'm sorry. I really am.”

"You know, I try to tell myself that I don't care what people think," Olivia said, and fell silent as she stared at the television above the bar.

Elliot took another drink of his beer, and set the bottle firmly down on the counter. "But, Olivia, you don't." 

"True," she replied, her gaze deviating from the TV to meet Elliot's clear eyes. "I couldn't care less what people think, but at the end of the day, I realized that I care what you think. I was kind of angry about that, actually. But you're my best friend, and, even if it bothers me, what you think matters to me."

"I care about you, too, Liv," Elliot said. "Why else do you think I stopped wearing that maroon tie?" 

And Olivia found herself smiling at that. There was something very comforting about having Elliot back on her side again. As much as she liked to believe that she was a very emotionally independent person, Olivia counted on Elliot for emotional and mental stability when it came to their job, and something like that sense of dependence had unwittingly slipped into their personal relationship. And it was good to know that he no longer thought any differently of her. Olivia was about to propose they head out, or at least sit down in the restaurant to order some dinner, when Elliot’s face burst into a very wide grin and he discreetly indicated with a tip from his beer bottle someone on the other side of the bar.

“What about her? Gay or straight?”

Olivia didn’t turn, didn’t even lift her eyes from Elliot’s face. “Elliot Stabler, I did not share intimate details of my personal life with you so that you could exploit me in your hetero male bar games. Besides, I told you the Boots McGee was the last one I was calling.”

“Have this one be the last one,” he pleaded.

“No, I’m done.”

“Liv, I swear you’re not going to regret it,” he persisted. “Just turn around and tell me if the blonde in the skirt plays for your team.” Olivia considered smashing her bottle over Elliot's head for his insistence and fine choice of words, but decided against it and turned toward the object of her partner’s insistence.

The blonde in the skirt.

Never had words failed so much to describe a random bar patron. The blonde in a skirt, as Elliot had so eloquently put it, was the most beautiful woman Olivia Benson had ever seen. She had delicate, but defined features and sharp curves hidden under an impeccable steel-grey designer skirt suit. Her hair was the color of pale gold, and fell indiscriminately over her shoulders as she walked from the door to the bar. But it was her fierce cobalt eyes staring out from behind a pair of thin-rimmed glasses, that captured Olivia and made something rise in her chest. She suddenly found herself very thankful of the fact that she was already seated because she was sure that if she had been standing, the scene she would have caused when her knees buckled beneath her would have been embarrassing. 

Olivia felt a sudden flush of warmth, and redirected the rush to her hand, which tightened its grip around her bottle of beer. It was all she could do to keep herself from looking like a dazzled high school freshman. She turned away brusquely, boring her attention into the bar in front of her to keep from staring at the woman. She felt the warmth spread itself over her face, and prayed that Elliot had not noticed it.

A nudge at her elbow told her that he had, in fact, noticed. Damn his fine detective skills.

Bypassing the questions to which he was sure he knew the answers, Elliot jumped to what he assumed would be the most logical reason for his partner to take a sudden interest in the scarred wooden bar on which they rested their drinks. “You know her, don’t you?”

Olivia shook her head, “Nope, never seen her before.”

“Then what’s with the schoolgirl blush?”

Olivia gripped her beer bottle tighter, stealing a glance at the blonde, who was now at the bar, sitting alone, and had just begun to nurse what looked like a scotch on the rocks. “You don’t have to know someone to find them extremely attractive.”

“Well, no,” Elliot said. He peered sidelong over Olivia’s head and studied the woman in question. She was beautiful, alright. With a defined face and intense blue eyes. Elegant, Elliot ventured. She was elegant in that old money, whiskey-and-cigars-at-the-country-club kind of way. “Seems a little out of place, though, doesn't she?” 

Olivia started to nod, but anything she might have said was cut off when Elliot’s phone rang.

As Elliot tended to his call, Olivia let her eyes roam in the direction of the woman again. She sat sipping from her glass and taking the occasional peanut from the small basket in front of her between long fingers. Olivia wondered if she was waiting for someone, or if the fact that the seat next to hers was empty meant that it was an open invitation to join her. The blonde’s hair was excellently done, her posture immaculate, and the suit professional. In a word, she looked regal, and, true to Elliot's call, terribly out of place.

While not exactly a third-rate dive, the bar was frequented almost exclusively by cops and ex-cops and parolees and informants they consorted with; it was no place to come dressed in a Wall Street powersuit without looking to attract attention. Olivia scanned the woman discreetly: no ring; no jewelry, really, except earrings. Professional glasses, a typical mid-length haircut. Her drink of choice was scotch on the rocks; not the typical straight-girl drink, but not exactly telling...and then Olivia caught herself trying to make her, playing Elliot’s game even though she'd said she didn’t want to anymore.

But this woman at the bar, this blonde in a skirt, Olivia had to know. She decided to finish her beer and wait too see if the blonde was still sitting alone at the end of it. _Give it a few seconds_ , she thought. _A couple of minutes._

“Well, that was Kathy,” Elliot said, snapping his phone shut. “Maureen’s having a few friends over for dinner, and she wants me to pick up some groceries.”

“Do you have to leave now?”

“Nah, I can hang out for a bit longer,” he said. He took another pull of his beer. “So, you figured her out yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” Olivia said, frowning into her bottle. “I got nothing. She’s either straight, or gayer than a book of Walt Whitman’s poetry.” 

“Right,” Elliot said. “So, you gonna go over there or what?” 

“Yes, yes, I am,” Olivia said. She pulled herself away from the bar and mused her hair. Elliot offered her a smile and a thumbs-up before she took a breath and walked confidently to the other side of the bar. Elliot watched with the slightest hint of wonder as Olivia approached the blonde, exchanged a few inaudible words, and sat down in the empty stool next to her.

Within minutes, they had ordered another round of drinks. Elliot watched out of the corner of his eye as they talked and drank, swapping smiles and looks. Some minutes later, he shot another glance in Olivia’s general direction and saw both women rise from the bar, still smiling.

Elliot chuckled to himself. Olivia exchanged a small glance with him as she came over to grab her jacket. “Name’s Alex,” she said quickly, and reached for her wallet. “She has the most captivating eyes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Elliot said, nudging her wallet away. “Consider this part of my apology. You and Alex have a good time.”

“Thanks. See ya tomorrow, Elliot.”

“Good night, Liv.”

He finished his beer, and paid the tab. Tomorrow’s after-shift drinks were going to be particularly interesting.


End file.
